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when she came!"
Darling, we count your eighteen years,--?Fifteen in Heaven, on earth but three,--?And try to frame you grown and wise:?But all in vain; there still appears?Only the child you used to be,?Our baby with the violet eyes.
OUTWARD BOUND,
A grievous day of wrathful winds,?Of low-hung clouds, which scud and fly,?And drop cold rains, then lift and show?A sullen realm of upper sky.
The sea is black as night; it roars?From lips afoam with cruel spray,?Like some fierce, many-throated pack?Of wolves, which scents and chases prey.
Crouched in my little wind-swept nook,?I hear the menacing voices call,?And shudder, as above the deck?Topples and swings the weltering wall.
It seems a vast and restless grave,?Insatiate, hungry, beckoning?With dreadful gesture of command?To every free and living thing.
"O Lord," I cry, "Thou makest life?And hope and all sweet things to be;?Rebuke this hovering, following Death,--?This horror never born of Thee."
A sudden gleam, the waves light up?With radiant momentary hues,--?Amber and shadowy pearl and gold,?Opal and green and unknown blues,--
And, rising on the tossing walls,?Within the foaming valleys swung,?Soft shapes of sea-birds, dimly seen,?Flutter and float and call their young,
A moment; then the lowering clouds?Settle anew above the main,?The colors die, the waves rise higher,?And night and terror rule again.
No more I see the small, dim shapes,?So unafraid of wind and wave,?Nestling beneath the tempest's roar,?Cradled in what I deemed a grave.
But all night long I lay and smiled?At thought of those soft folded wings,?And trusting, with the trustful birds,?In Him who cares for smallest things.
FROM EAST TO WEST.
The boat cast loose her moorings;?"Good-by" was all we said.?"Good-by, Old World," we said with a smile,?And never looked back as we sped,?A shining wake of foam behind,?To the heart of the sunset red.
Heavily drove our plunging keel?The warring waves between;?Heavily strove we night and day,?Against the west-wind keen,?Bent, like a foe, to bar our path,--?A foe with an awful mien.
Never a token met our eyes?From the dear land far away;?No storm-swept bird, no drifting branch,?To tell us where it lay.?Wearily searched we, hour by hour,?Through the mist and the driving spray,
Till, all in a flashing moment,?The fog-veils rent and flew,?And a blithesome south-wind caught the sails?And whistled the cordage through,?And the stars swung low their silver lamps?In a dome of airy blue,
And, breathed from unseen distances,?A new and joyous air?Caressed our senses suddenly?With a rapture fresh and rare.?"It is the breath of home!" we cried;?"We feel that we are there."
O Land whose tent-roof is the dome?Of Heaven's, purest sky,?Whose mighty heart inspires the wind?Of glad, strong liberty,?Standing upon thy sunset shore,?Beside the waters high,
Long may thy rosy smile be bright;?Above the ocean din?Thy young, undaunted voice be heard,?Calling the whole world kin;?And ever be thy arms held out?To take the storm-tossed in!
UNA.
My darling once lived by my side,?She scarcely ever went away;?We shared our studies and our play,?Nor did she care to walk or ride?Unless I did the same that day.
Now she is gone to some far place;?I never see her any more,?The pleasant play-times all are o'er;?I come from school, there is no face?To greet me at the open door.
At first I cried all day, all night;?I could not bear to eat or smile,?I missed her, missed her, all the while?The brightest day did not look bright,?The shortest walk was like a mile.
Then some one came and told me this:?"Your playmate is but gone from view,?Close by your side she stands, and you?Can almost hear her breathe, and kiss?Her soft cheek as you used to do.
"Only a little veil between,--?A slight, thin veil; if you could see?Past its gray folds, there she would be,?Smiling and sweet, and she would lean?And stretch her hands out joyfully.
"All the day long, and year by year,?She will go forward as you go;?As you grow older, she will grow;?As you grow good, she with her clear?And angel eyes, will mark and know.
"Think, when you wake up every day,?That she is standing by your bed,?Close to the pillow where her head,?Her little curly head, once lay,?With a 'Good-morning' smiled, not said.
"Think, when the hooks seem dull and tame,?The sports no longer what they were,?That there she sits, a shape of air,?And turns the leaf or joins the game?With the same smile she used to wear.
"So, moving on still, hand in hand,?One of these days your eyes will clear,?The hiding veil will disappear,?And you will know and understand?Just why your playmate left you here."
This made me happier, and I try?To think each day that it may be.?Sometimes I do so easily;?But then again I have to cry,?Because I want so much to SEE!
TWO WAYS TO LOVE.
"Entre deux amants il y a toujours l'an qui baise et l'autre qui tend la joue."
I says he loves me well, and I?Believe it; in my hands, to make?Or mar, his life lies utterly,?Nor can I the strong plea deny.?Which